Twelve Days of Christmas: Christmas That Never Was
by Brightness Wordweaver
Summary: Halfway through the Year That Never Was, Martha and the Doctor find reasons to celebrate.


A/N: Welcome to Day Twelve of my Twelve Days of Christmas ficathon! Each day has been in a different fandom, so check out the full list on my profile. Today's loose prompt: twelve drummers drumming.

My stuff for this fandom before has been either with Rose or Donna, so I thought it was about time I gave Martha a little love.

...

Martha Jones was huddled under the stairs of a safe house in Sydney, Australia, cold and wet from her recent crossing of the harbor, and someone was singing "Deck the Halls" blatantly off-key.

At first, Martha thought it must be water in her ears. Then, she thought perhaps the singer was attempting to be humorous, or ironic. Then she realized, as if her thoughts were dipped in amber, that it was Christmas Eve.

_Well_, she thought, _this is officially the worst Christmas I've ever had. And I thought nothing could top the year Dad tried to get Mum to take him back._

The Doctor had had time to tell her a few things before she got out, and he'd said that, if his plan worked, this whole year would never have happened. She might possibly remember things, but the actual events, the time that passed, would reset. So technically, her worst Christmas on record wouldn't exist.

Martha hoped she remembered, anyway. She had thought differently at first, but traveling the world, having adventures and surviving without the Doctor, shifted her perspective. She'd _earned_ these memories, even the horrible, traumatic, nightmare-inducing ones. She'd become a harder person, but a better one.

_At least I'm having a better Christmas than this lot_, Martha thought, looking around. She, at least, had hope that things would get better, that she could change things. For all the refugees around her knew, life was never going to get any better. They didn't even know if they would be alive in another year.

Well, that was what she was here for.

A small, ragged girl approached her shyly. "The grownups are saying you came from outside town. Do you know any stories? We haven't had any new people in a long time, and everybody gets happier when someone tells a new story."

Martha smiled and took the little girl's hand. "I know lots of good stories," she promised. "Go get your family and anyone else who wants to hear, okay?"

"Okay!" The girl skipped away, then stopped. "I'm Mary," she announced. "Mummy says it's polite to introduce yourself."

"It's nice to meet you, Mary," Martha said gravely. "I'm Martha Jones."

...

The _Valiant_ was going over a city; the Doctor could see the lights glowing up through the clouds if he wheeled over to a window. He needed to find beauty somewhere, even took a lot of effort and he had to rest before he could go anywhere else. This elderly body the Master had stuck him in kept catching him by surprise, even after all this time. His mind still felt the same, like he ought to be able to go dashing about and sonicking things.

Mannheim Steamroller's "Deck the Halls" began blaring over the room's speakers, and the Master waltzed in, Lucy on his arm. She was wearing that red dress she'd worn on Day One, with a dark green wrap this time. Was it that time of year already? The Doctor quickly did the math in his head.

"Merry Christmas!" The Master spun the Doctor's wheelchair around, grinning madly and humming with the blaring music. His fingers tapped out the four-beat rhythm that seemed to pervade the ship. Then he cocked his head. "Why are you smiling?"

For that expression was indeed visible on the Doctor's wrinkled face. "Isn't that what one does at Christmas?" he croaked out. "I would have thought there'd be decorations, but you'd have to land to get those, wouldn't you? Not really in keeping with your image, is it? They say you never walk upon the ground."

The Master shoved him away. "You're plotting something again, Doctor," he said lazily. "It's the only time you smile like that, when you've got some half-baked little scheme running. Just for that, no Christmas tea for you-I think I can get some porridge from the kitchens, though."

The _Valiant_'s porridge was a common punishment, and not one to be taken lightly. The Doctor didn't care. If it was Christmas, then Martha was halfway through her mission. He was halfway through waiting. The world was halfway through this dark nightmare year his best enemy had plunged it into.

That was worth a grin or two, even if it meant porridge for tea.

...

A/N: I made it! (Phew.) MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!


End file.
